January 26, 2017 by unclespike218
I’m an American gay man. So you might guess that I am familiar with the bottle.
Yeah. As if that headline didn’t clue you in. (part 1 of how many?) Anyhow, you’d be right. More so than my poor ailing liver would like.
Here is where I’d expound and wax philosophical on the joys and woes that alcohol has gotten me. Fuck that. Let’s get right to it.
- Sangria. Might as well start at the very beginning. Maybe 5 years old, and my dad was already letting me have sips of Reál Sangria. Yummy. Weak on the alcohol side, and fruity…just like a 5 year old likes it. But delicious. And I never got drunk on it. To my knowledge.
- Bailey’s. Discovered this as a teenager. Delicious. As I got older and more rebellious, I’d have a shot of this after school every day. I have no idea what I was going for. But to this day, I love this stuff…in coffee, mixed with peppermint schnapps, on the rocks, in B-52s…it’s luscious.
- Old Milwaukee Light. My first headlong foray into the world of alcohol. *deep breath* So here’s what happened. No lunch. Late afternoon on Friday, doing homework. A friend calls me down to his place, says he’s got said beer, to come down and hang out. I demur, but a half hour later, realize that homework on a Friday afternoon sucks. So I bike down, chomping on gum all the time. Friend hands me a beer, and I proceed to get wasted for the first time in my life.
Now, before we continue, let’s recap. No lunch. No mid-afternoon snack. A light bit of exercising to build up the appetite further. And chewing gum to prime the digestive pump. My body was ready to just absorb whatever I drank and make every last damned drop count.
After about five or seven beers (over the span of…hmm…couldn’t have been more than an hour and a half), I close my eyes, and feel the universe spinning a thousand miles an hour in opposite directions simultaneously. And in that one instant, I learned more about definable limits than I ever did in calculus, and oh holy shit I have blasted past one without knowing it and five minutes later…oh God, that’s all she wrote. Got so sick that night that even the thought of drinking water – WATER, for crying out loud – sent me to the porcelain altar (by that point, for the third or fourth time). And that night, I swore, on said porcelain altar, between painful obeisances, that if I lived past that night, I would never, ever, ever touch a drop of the devil liquid ever again. (Well, until the next time…)
I learned a valuable lesson that night about limits, and I’m glad it was with Old Milwaukee Light. I could happily go the rest of my life without drinking it. And I’m glad I learned that lesson on swill like OML, and not on something I love.
- Screwdriver. My first successful foray into the world of alcohol, for good. In college (where alcohol was officially not allowed), my roommate and I discovered the joys of this drink made not with orange juice, but with Tang. It was surprisingly good. Got happy, never sick.
- Raspberry kamikaze. My first one was at the Rueb ‘n’ Stein in Northfield, MN. My partner-in-crime bought me one, along with another friend and we cheered…I dunno…finding a place in Minneapolis to live together after college? The details after half a lifetime elude me. At any rate, this one’s been a keeper over the years. If I’m at a loss for ideas for birthday shots, this is my default.
- SoCo and Coke. My first regular drink once I came out. I have no idea where I discovered this, and I don’t know anyone who has ever had this as a drink ever since. (Seriously…why not Long Islands? Why not vodka tonics? Why not something more basic?) But this accompanied me through college and a year or two beyond, I guess. At the Saloon in Minneapolis shortly after graduation, I got, uh, courted rather heavily by a guy who was, to be sure, friendly, but oh boy, did he keep the drinks flowing. Seven of these hummers later, slight 165-pound and utterly wasted me was ready to go home with him. Fortunately, I was with friends, and as soon as I babbled this story to them, I saw a smile quickly disappear from one of them. My drink got snatched away from me immediately, I was cut off, and they unquestionably saved me. From what remains the mystery to this day, but I’m certain it was for the best. (And somehow, I never got sick that night.)
Compelled? You know you are. Here’s part 2…